Page 79 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
Amber and I are both laughing as Woody returns with Jake’s drink.
‘Cheers, Woody,’ Jake says, holding up his pint of beer. ‘My round next.’
We all decide on, then order, some food from Rita at the bar, then we begin chatting amiably around the pub table while we wait. The earlier awkwardness I thought might be there between me and Jake seems to melt away, and Woody and Amber are getting on very well too.
‘Poppy is going to try and hold a wedding at Trecarlan,’ Woody tells Jake. ‘And lovely Amber is going to do all their beautiful flowers.’ He smiles dreamily at Amber.
‘Really?’ Jake asks, looking at me in astonishment. ‘How on earth are you going to do that – it’s derelict, isn’t it?’
‘No. It’s just not lived in. Mad Stan, the previous owner, had to go into a home when he couldn’t live there any more.’
‘MadStan?’ Jake enquires. ‘I’ve never heard him called that before.’
‘That’s what the locals used to call him. Stan was a bit… eccentric, I guess you’d call it. How long have you lived in St Felix if you don’t remember Stan?’
Jake thinks. ‘Erm, we moved here about seven years ago when I got the flower business, and we were here two years before… well, you know.’
I nod hurriedly. ‘Perhaps that’s why you don’t remember Stan then. He must have left before you arrived.’
‘Stan sounds fabulous,’ Amber says. ‘I love elderly people – they have so many interesting stories to tell.’
‘You’d love Stan then, he was always telling stories. Not all of which I think were true.’
‘You still haven’t explained why you’re going to hold a wedding at the castle though,’ Jake persists.
I quickly fill him in on what happened in the shop earlier.
‘Well, good luck with that,’ he says, looking doubtful. ‘I can’t see Caroline letting you hold a wedding there.’
‘Why not? She doesn’t own Trecarlan.’
‘You’d think she did the way she carries on. She’s very protective of it. But then Caroline seems to have taken it upon herself to be in charge of all of St Felix.’
‘Well, not this time,’ I say. ‘Trecarlan was Stan’s house, not hers, and I intend to breathe some life back into the old place with or without Caroline Harrington-Smythe’s permission!’
We talk about the wedding and Trecarlan some more, deciding that if I am going to try and hold a wedding at the castle next month, not only will I need the blessing of the Parish Council, but the help of some of the townsfolk of St Felix too.
‘You need to hold a meeting,’ Woody suggests. ‘The people here are very helpful, and I know they’ll chip in, like they did with your shop.’
Jake nods. ‘He’s right, whatever you might dislike about living in a tight-knit community, the people here always try to help each other when someone’s in need.’
‘That’s what I love about this place,’ Amber says affectionately, ‘the closeness. Coming from New York, it’s like a different world.’
‘Do you miss it?’ Jake asks. ‘Being here in little old St Felix can hardly compare to the Big Apple.’
‘I miss the energy,’ Amber says. ‘Nothing can compare to the buzz of Manhattan. And of course I miss my friends and family over there, big time. And I’ll definitely miss New York in the fall this year.’
‘Is it pretty?’ Woody asks. ‘I’ve never been to America.’
‘Oh yes, very. If you go upstate, the colours are even more intense and beautiful than in the city.’
‘It sounds amazing, Amber,’ Woody says, hanging off her every word like a puppy waiting for a treat from its master. ‘I’d love to go there one day. I’m sure it’s wonderful.’
‘It is, Woody, you’d love it. But St Felix is a wonderful place too, don’t ever doubt that. I miss things about the States, sure, but here –’ she gestures around the room – ‘in this friendly pub, on the beautiful sandy beaches, walking the quaint little streets, and visiting your olde worlde harbour with its colourful boats bobbing around – it’s…’ She searches for the right word. ‘It’s safe. Here in St Felix I feel safe, like nothing or no one is going to get to me.’
I notice that Amber’s bottom lip is quivering as she finishes her impromptu speech. She hurriedly picks up her almost empty pint glass and drains the last of her second Guinness of the night.
‘If Richie doesn’t hurry up with those meals, I’ll be quite tipsy soon,’ she says, and her eyes are a bit misty. ‘That’s what you Brits say, isn’t it – tipsy?’
